


if heaven's grief brings hell's rain

by shatteredhourglass



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Injury, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Hawkeye: Freefall (2020), Hawkeye: Freefall Spoilers, Hurt Clint Barton, M/M, POV Bucky Barnes, Post-Hawkeye: Freefall, The Kind Of 'We're In Love But It's Always The Wrong Time To Do Anything About It' Relationship, This boy needs so much therapy, mentioned Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:35:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25069252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shatteredhourglass/pseuds/shatteredhourglass
Summary: Bucky finds Clint.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 65
Kudos: 238





	if heaven's grief brings hell's rain

**Author's Note:**

> The angst potential of Hawkeye Freefall is absolutely addictive. It's awoken the angst demon that was lying dormant inside me. Thank you, Matt Rosenberg.

Bucky’s been staring at his phone for the last seven hours.

It’s been two weeks.

They won’t let him in Steve’s hospital room; he’s not family, which - _fuck_ that, honestly. He’s had to get all his information from Sam, because Sam has that shiny little ring on his left hand and it pisses him off to no end. He’s tempted to barge in anyway, but he’s got rules about scaring the poor nurses here.

His phone has five percent battery now. Bucky’s been watching it drain blankly, waiting for a call he knows isn’t going to come. It’s run out of credit - Stark insists he go on a plan, but Bucky’s been fine with paying as he goes so far because he doesn’t use the phone for anything.

He’s called Clint exactly forty-seven times.

It went to voicemail the first thirteen times, Bucky’s heart skipping a beat when he heard Clint’s _hey, you’ve reached the second-coolest Hawkeye on the planet, leave a message and I’ll get back to you, unless you’re that guy who keeps trying to sell me crocs_. After that, a cold female voice informed him that the number could no longer be reached.

Bucky continues to stare at his phone.

The screen lights up.

It’s not the person he wants, but he’ll take it.

Bucky doesn't bother with greetings. "Did you find him?"

"James," Natasha says, and there's an edge to her voice. "Perhaps we should leave him alone for now. He’s volatile."

"I don't care," Bucky says. "Leaving him out there on his own is worse."

“We don’t know what he’ll do if we chase him down. He’s dangerous enough to pose a serious threat if he doesn’t want to be followed. You know what they say about sleeping lions."

"You're talking like he's some kind of supervillain," Bucky says, anger rising up his throat. "He's _Clint_."

"That's not my Clint out there. My Clint was... soft," Natasha says. It's the first sign he's seen that this has truly unnerved her, a sign that she's only pretending to be okay with the situation they're in. "Steve's still in the hospital from his encounter with Ronin."

"I don't believe he did that," Bucky says flatly. "He's - he fucked up, but Steve's his - I can't believe he's actually behind that one. It had to have been an accident."

There's a beat of silence. Bucky _knows_ , though, whatever the evidence says to the contrary. Clint's always been haunted by a myriad of things that wouldn't bother other people, but disappointing Steve Rogers is right at the top of his list. It would've killed him. 

"You're right," Natasha says eventually. "Bullseye confessed to that. You didn't know that, though."

"I didn't," Bucky agrees. It's a small relief, knowing. He doesn't like that Natasha was testing him, though. Like his faith would be anywhere but in Clint Barton, even after all this crap they've found themselves in.

She sighs. "Very well. I'll send you the coordinates. Are you taking Sam?"

"No," Bucky says. "I'm going alone."

Natasha's shaking her head - he can't see her through the phone, but he can tell. "Love doesn't do you any favours, James. You'd do well to remember that."

Is that what this is? Love?

He's expecting something more dramatic, maybe.

A crowded city in Japan where the Yakuza are hiding, or the depths of the New York underground society. Drug cartels in Mexico. Fighting and blood and murder and chaos like it’s been for the last month, not… this.

Instead he brakes his motorbike at an abandoned construction site in the middle of Iowa, in the middle of some farming lands. A sign that's broken and lying on the ground states that this is Barton Farm, although it looks like the place was demolished and started being rebuilt a while ago. Bucky remembers Clint saying something about his brother selling the place, months ago.

The clouds in the sky are dark and heavy. There’s no rain or thunder, just a cold breeze that bites into his flesh even through his suit. Bucky feels like the clouds are waiting for something. Someone, maybe. He walks closer to the ruins of a farmhouse, either half-built or half-demolished, takes in the machines sitting in the dried grass and the crunch of broken glass under his feet.

What if Clint’s not even here?

Natasha is rarely wrong, but there’s always a chance she’ll lie to keep him out of Clint’s way. He’d like to think she wouldn’t lie to him.

He’s a realist though, and if Natasha could lie to Clint in that letter she’d written him two years ago, she could lie to Bucky without the slightest remorse.

There’s a half-finished staircase and one room that is protected from the elements; a worn-looking mattress is tucked in one corner with a bow that’s been snapped in half next to it. There’s a patch of dark red in the corner opposite, smeared on the wall like a bloodstained hand was using it as support.

Bucky’s lungs don’t feel like they’re working properly. Every breath burns in his chest, the dread sinking down in his veins. He refuses to get a weapon out; hasn’t even brought one except for the knife in his boot, because he will _not_ see Clint as a threat. He can’t.

As he’s walking through the mess of concrete and wood, he sees a shadowy figure standing in the field out back and suddenly he can breathe again.

“This is private property,” a voice rasps at him, nearly inaudible over the wind.

It’s him.

“I’m just here to pick up something I lost,” Bucky says. “You seen him? Tall, blond idiot with a self-destructive streak longer than my lifespan?”

Clint turns at that, although the expression on his face is unreadable. He's still in the old Hawkeye suit, covered in blood and ripped in more places that can be repaired. The mask is gone and he's bruised to all hell, one eye nearly swollen shut, and a couple of his fingers look like they’ve been broken and set badly.

“You look like hell, Barton.”

It’s so _good_ to see him again, even if Bucky’s heart breaks at the sight.

“Get out of here, Bucky,” Clint says. “You don’t- you shouldn’t be here.”

“I _wouldn’t_ be here if you’d answer my calls.”

“I threw my phone out a window.”

“Why did y- you know what, it doesn’t matter.”

Bucky takes a step towards him and Clint backs up further into the field immediately like he’s afraid of what Bucky’s going to do to him if they get close. Like he thinks Bucky’s going to hurt him - and yeah, part of him _does_ want to slap Clint a little for all the lying, but he’s not going to go through with it. Looks like he’s already been beaten up enough, honestly.

Instead Bucky raises his hands carefully, tries to be as nonthreatening as possible.

Clint’s one good eye skitters over his face without making eye contact and then looks over his shoulder into the construction site. “Who’s with you? Sam? John?”

“Just me,” Bucky says. “It’s just you and me, Clint, nobody else.” _You’re safe_ , is what he wants to say, but it might be taken as patronizing.

Clint sags a little at that, the defensive stance bleeding out of him once he’s decided Bucky’s telling the truth. It's the most trust he's shown Bucky in the last month. “You come to arrest me? Take me to wherever you’re stuffing the home-grown villains nowadays?”

“No, I’m not gonna fucking _arrest_ you, Clint. Jesus.”

“Then why are you _here?_ ”

“Because you’re my-” Bucky starts, stops. Dumping his feelings all over the place probably won’t help the situation. Clint’s in no place to deal with the fact that Bucky’s been in love with him for what feels like forever. “Someone’s got to keep an eye on you.”

“You got the short straw, huh.”

“Plenty of people want to help you, Clint,” he says. “You gotta let ‘em, though. Steve’s been asking Sam where you are.”

Clint cringes visibly at that. Bucky instantly feels guilty for bringing Steve up, but it has the effect he’s expecting. There’s cracks starting to appear in Clint’s expression now, little tells that wouldn’t be noticeable to anyone else. He already looks like he’s falling apart and Bucky’s heart is falling apart with him, but he’s gotta reach him somehow.

“Let me help,” Bucky says. “Please.”

“Think I’m beyond help now,” Clint mutters, so quiet that Bucky nearly misses it.

“No one’s beyond help,” Bucky says. "Come on."

Clint doesn’t say anything to that.

"What are you doing here, Clint?"

"I don't _know_ ," Clint says, and his voice cracks on it. "I don't know what I'm _doing_ anymore."

Despite how tall he is, right now Clint just looks small, deflated and defeated. He doesn’t look like the murderous villain the media’s making him out to be. Doesn’t even look like he’d hurt anyone else at all; right now it feels like the only person Clint’s hurt is himself, deep on the inside where no one can see the mess he’s made.

"The kid died," Clint says. "He wasn't- he wasn't even eighteen, Buck, not even a fucking adult, and I paid him to get away from Robbins and work for me and he saw my robot clone's _dick_ and I- and now he's dead because of me. It’s _my fault_ , Bucky."

"I'm sorry," Bucky says. There’s nothing else he can say to that; there’s a special kind of pain involved with losing people younger than you. Steve would be better at this, probably, but Steve wouldn’t have been able to get this close to Clint without him fleeing.

Clint’s looking at his hands now, at the caked blood and dirty bandages. "What the fuck's wrong with me, Buck?"

"You wear socks that don't match," Bucky answers. "You like pineapple on pizza, and you think bowling shirts are acceptable fashion."

The choked noise that escapes Clint is far from a laugh, but at least it's a reaction. 

“I used to know a guy who did the same things you’re doing right now,” Bucky says. “Got all fucked up on the inside and decided instead of doing the sensible thing and tryin’ to get help, he’d pretend everything was fine. Shoved all his friends away so no one could try and help him, so he could keep spiraling down into the bad shit.”

“What happened?”

“He fell off a goddamn train,” Bucky says. “Lost an arm, lost his mind, ended up serving the worst kind of people for seventy years and now he’s gotta live with that for the rest of his life when he could’ve just talked to someone. I ain’t letting you isolate yourself.”

The curl of Clint’s lips isn’t _quite_ a smile. “You’re kinda stubborn, huh.”

“Yep,” Bucky says. “The question is, are you gonna be?”

Clint looks at the flattened grass under his feet. Looks back at Bucky and his expression is so _lost_.

"C'mere," Bucky says. "C'mon, right here. Please."

Clint takes one small step closer like it's hurting him and then stops.

There's so much turmoil and pain written on his face that it hurts to look at, and Bucky gives up - he's never been a patient man - and closes the distance between them, ignores Clint's flinch as he grabs ahold of blood-stiff fabric and drags him into a hug that’s far too tight to be comfortable. 

It's awkward. Clint's not trying to hug him back. He's all tension, elbows sticking out like he doesn't know what to do with himself now. Bucky's just relieved to be touching him, to hear the rasp of Clint's breathing and smell that weird grape shampoo he uses under the blood and dirt. 

It eases the lump in his throat, just a little.

"I'm not-" Clint says. 

"Shut up," Bucky says. "Just- just shut up for five minutes, okay? I need this."

He's figured Clint out, sort of. If he frames it as trying to comfort Clint in one of these moods (although it's never been this bad,) Clint won't allow it. If Bucky frames it as something _he_ needs, though, Clint will let himself have the comfort under the guise of helping someone else. 

Not that it isn't a little selfish. (He _does_ need this, he needs it so bad.)

Bucky's standing on a step, so he's high enough that Clint’s cheek is against his, scratchy stubble against his skin and arms over his shoulders. He turns his face so his nose is pressed against hair matted with god-knows-what, finally lets out the breath he's been holding ever since he saw Parker Robbins' corpse being carried away. 

"We're okay," he says softly, hopes to hell it's the truth. ”It’s okay.”

True or not, it's what finally breaks Clint. 

Bucky doesn't know what he's expecting, but he's not quite prepared for Clint to hide his face into Bucky's neck and let out a painful-sounding, hitching sob. He's not expecting to feel like crying himself, although he manages to hold it back. One of his hands ends up in Clint's hair, strokes as gentle as he can with the matted chunks of blood and gore getting in the way. 

"It's okay," he repeats, can't come up with anything better as Clint finally grabs him back, desperate and painfully tight, presses in close like he’s trying to hide against Bucky’s body. "Hey, hey. Shh. I got you. It's okay."

The rain starts up a second later and Bucky ignores it, lets them both get slowly soaked and pretends he can't feel the heat of Clint's tears on his skin. 

It should be a bigger deal than it is. 

Bucky should be feeling more betrayed than he does. The thing is that he can't find it in himself to care about a few bad guys dying except for the effect it's having on the man held in his arms right now, and he can hardly get angry at Clint when he knows Clint's mind is already dealing out more punishment than Bucky can ever hope to achieve. He just wants to take Clint _home_ , for fuck's sake. That's it.

Eventually they’ve got to move - Bucky can’t catch a cold but Clint certainly can, and it’s hard to tell if Clint’s shaking is because of exhaustion, stress or the cold, but instead of letting him go Bucky just rearranges them so he can scoop Clint off the ground, heads for where he’d seen the mattress.

Clint doesn’t really react to the movement, other than a brief clench of his fingers against Bucky’s jacket. They’ve got to get him out of those clothes at some point, but Bucky doesn’t have any spares and he’s not willing to leave to go and find some.

“I’m so fucking tired,” Clint whispers.

“I know,” Bucky says, smooths down a piece of his hair that’s sticking up oddly. “I know, sweetheart, let’s get you lying down for a minute, alright? How long's it been since you took a break?”

Whatever fight Clint had possessed initially - whatever was keeping him going, whatever got him all the way to Iowa in a bloodstained suit and beaten body, it’s gone now. He’s pliant as Bucky gets him settled on his side on the mattress, lays down next to him and tugs a blanket over them.

“I’m sorry,” Clint mumbles.

“For which part?” Bucky reaches out, wipes carefully at Clint’s damp cheeks. Clint lets him do it without comment, lashes dark and wet against his pale skin.

“All of it. _Fuck_.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Bucky says, gives into the urge to curl in closer, press his forehead against Clint’s overheated one. “As long as you don’t run off on your own, alright?”

“I don’t get you,” Clint mutters. “I don’t- I’m not worth it.”

“You are,” Bucky says, and Clint must be too exhausted to argue because there’s no answer.

God knows there’s going to be repercussions for this, but it’s all worth it if Clint stays. Even if the authorities want them, even if the other Avengers decide it’s more trouble than they’re worth. It’s for Clint’s sake, of course - and it’s also because some selfish part of Bucky can’t bear to let him go.

“We’re okay,” Bucky says again, under his breath, and Clint’s fingers flex gently against his back in reply.

**Author's Note:**

> Title Song: [Just One Yesterday - Fall Out Boy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kMwK8AicNGE) (yes we're using cheesy emo songs now)


End file.
